


Life's A Gamble

by cakeisnotpie



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: FTC, Fuck the Canon, Inspired by Art, Inspired by S.W.A.T., M/M, S.W.A.M.P., SHIELD Academy, age is flexible, everyone knows everyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-01-09 03:13:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1140766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakeisnotpie/pseuds/cakeisnotpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil Coulson's proud of winning the annual SHIELD war games with his fantasy team, Strike Team Delta. Of course, he hadn't met Clint Barton in the flesh ... and seriously? Barton's flesh was mighty attractive ... and now that he has, he's pretty sure he's gotten in over his head. </p><p>Clint Barton never misses, plays a mean game of pool, and has a thing for competent, strong men who take charge. Then Phil Coulson shows up, they get activated for what may or may not be a real mission, and all Clint wants to do is get into Coulson's pants. </p><p>Mysterious energy spikes, science geeks, midnight swims, and lurking villains were not on Clint or Phil's agenda.</p><p>All Natasha wants to do is beat Maria Hill's team; why that's so important, well, Natasha isn't talking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I had this dream after watching "Seeds" episode of Agents of SHIELD that mixed the SHIELD Academy with Renner in S.W.A.T. I wrote chapter one, published it as a drabble and got some great feedback, so now this is going on my middle burner. The plan is 4 chapters and as soon as the semester is over next week, I should get them up in short order. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who asked for more. I hope you like it.

Inspired by this scene in S.W.A.T.

 

Clint studied the table, calculating the angles to sink his next ball in the pocket. The Scitech pleb wouldn’t know what hit him; abstract math had its uses, but Clint dealt with real life applications of physics and geometry. These guys could sneer at Clint all they liked; he’d be taking their enough of their money home in his pocket before the weekend was over. As he leaned over and slid the stick between his fingers, oh so casually tapping the cue ball with just the right amount of force to send it on its way, he felt the familiar itch on the back of his neck as a pair of blue eyes checked him out. Glancing up, Clint saw him sitting in a chair by the fireplace – seriously, the Boiler Room was tricked out with all the best bar stuff anyone could want, from pool tables to cozy booths to neon signs, a gazillion TVs tuned to every sports channel plus all the History channels and Discovery, trivia games, a stage for open mic night, and even a bank of classic arcade games where Clint may or may not have spent too many quarters playing Centipede – and this time Clint stared back, finally deciding, fuck it, if this guy wanted to get an eye full, Clint would certainly be glad to oblige. 

For the last two days, Clint had seen him off-and-on, no mistaking the open interest in his very pointed gaze. Not that Clint wasn’t used to a little ogling; in the insular world of SHIELD Academies, his blatant disregard for dress codes and muscles that he had no problem showing off did tend to garner attention. Sure, he used that to mask the doubts that haunted him, even sneaking into his dreams, but he’d rather make an impression than disappear in the cracks. He was a performer, after all; if everyone believed he was a rebel without a clue, a cocky son-of-a-bitch, well, then, he could play that part.

But this guy was different; yesterday, after the archery semi-finals, the guy hadn’t bothered to turn his eyes away when Clint caught him red-handed. No, he’d just done one last perusal from head to toe and back to Clint’s arms before he’d smiled like he knew what he was doing then walked away with the brunette he seemed to spend all this time with. Clint had taken the chance later when Natasha was off flirting with the late addition James Barnes – and yeah, he’d given her grief for collaborating with the enemy since Barnes was the closest competition Clint had in the 50m rifle – to check out his mystery guy in the concessions line. Almost Clint’s height, he was the most unassuming, typical white bread student Clint could imagine. With brown hair hanging across his forehead, carefully parted on the side in a neat line, nothing about him stood out from the crowd in terms of his looks. He wasn’t ugly nor was he gorgeous. He wasn’t fat nor was he thin. He wore a SHIELD Academy polo and khakis just like so many others.

And yet, there was something about him that made Clint look again. The direct stare that cut right through Clint’s bad boy persona and nailed him to the ground so the guy could take his time pulling Clint apart with nothing but his eyes. The calm confidence in a sea of academy angst like he knew exactly who he was and what he wanted. The way he laughed with his cheeks and his chin and his shoulders, unafraid to be open with what delighted him. And now, sitting in the chaos of the Boiler Room where the volume was turned up to eleven and people circled each other like sharks in the dating pool, the guy was relaxed, sipping at his beer, not hiding his interest in Clint’s little game he was running.

“Beat that, Circus Boy.” Clint’s current mark, a third year Scitechie who bragged about how fast he could run theorems in his head, had sunk his next to last stripe, leaving Clint with four solids still on the felt. A low thrum of tension spread around the onlookers at the name, but Clint shrugged it off. Not like it was the first time nor would it be the last. Besides, when people assumed he was stupid because of his history, that only made taking them to the cleaners that much more fun. So he didn’t answer, just surveyed the table and glanced back to make sure his audience of one was still watching.

Taking his sweet time, he bent over the table, giving the guy a very good view of his ass in his low slung, worn-out jeans. Resting the stick in his right hand, Clint slid his left along the shaft, caressing it with his palm, showing off his forearm and tattoo visible beneath his pushed up sleeves. His eyes found those intense blue ones that flickered over his black sweater, along his curved ass, back down his arms, lingering on his fingers. Without even looking, Clint took the shot, letting the cue ball go its course, rolling up one vertebra at a time. It hit two balls at once, sent them careening different directions, each taking another with them; all four dropped into different pockets as the cue ball bounced off a rail, nailed the eight ball and pushed it neatly into yet another pocket.

“No way!” the Scitechie practically yelled. “That’s almost impossible. The odds of making that shot are … astronomical!”

“Sorry, dude,” Clint shrugged, pole in his hand, rolling it across his palm. “Pay up.”

He ignored the grumbling and complaining, the money changing hands among the Ops students who knew better than to bet against Hawkeye, and strolled to the opposite side of the table where he had a perfect view of the two women joining his admirer. One was the brunette he’d seen all weekend; slim, fit, giving off a clear not-to-be-messed-with vibe that kept all the guys at bay. But Clint recognized the other, her black hair pulled back into a ponytail, her muscular body clad in black jeans and a black t-shirt.

Melinda May. Last Clint had heard of her, she’d been transferred to the Sandbox. Not really that much of a surprise with the way she kicked ass and took names. She’d been top of class in mixed martial arts and was stealthy as hell, damn good at strategy, and as cool as a cucumber under pressure. If she was hanging out with the guy, then he must be in the Sandbox as well which meant he was the best of the best. Only exceptional people moved over from the other academies. They were the ones on their way up the hierarchy, the opposite of Clint. He preferred right where he was, the pain-in-the-ass marksman SHIELD couldn’t do without.

Movement distracted him; Natasha was at the bar, Buchanan leaning next to her and – speaking of perfection – Steve Rogers in the next seat. Clint wanted to hate the blonde on principle; he’d never been a big fan of moral, upstanding types, but Steve really was a good guy which made it impossible to do more than feel inadequate around him. Rogers was one of the people who’d befriended him from the start; his tacit approval kept the worst bullies away from Clint and Natasha, saving both of them from multiple disciplinary actions for kicking too many students’ asses.  Nat smiled at Clint and gave him her patented I’m-getting-lucky-tonight grin. In return, Clint stroked his pool cue, waggling his tongue in her direction. His admirer saw the exchange and arched an eyebrow in Clint’s direction, his only reaction to Clint’s antics. Damn, but that was pretty hot, Clint thought.

“Double or nothing,” the Scitechie was saying, rolling his eyes at Clint. “That was a lucky shot. You can’t do it again.”

“Look,” Clint racked his stick and looked at the crowd. “I’ve got other things to do than kick your ass again. We’re done here.”

Grumbling, his opponent ponied up his cafeteria credits; Clint pocketed the debit card. Leaving the table he headed over to the fireplace, sidling up to May with his hands extended, gliding over the concrete floor.

“Clint Barton,” May said. She didn’t offer her hand, but she did tip her head in acknowledgment. “Still fleecing the unsuspecting, I see.”

“Haven’t paid for my own meal plan in years,” Clint replied, coming to a stop an arm’s length away. That was the truth; the first year he’d come to SHIELD Academy he’d been a hardship case and someone had forgotten to fill out all the right paperwork, and those magic little food cards never appeared in his mailbox. Only his ability to hustle pool and an endless string of odd jobs he worked for professors had kept him fed and able to buy beer. “Plus it keeps my skills honed.”

May snorted. “Anyone dumb enough to take you on deserves to lose a few lunches. Clint, this is Maria Hill and Phil Coulson.”

~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+

Phil reached out a hand towards Barton, the anticipation worth the weekend’s wait. He hadn’t really wanted to come; if Maria and Mel hadn’t been entered in a couple of the competitions, he’d have stayed in his room and worked on his thesis. But they’d dragged him along as their support group of one. Then he’d seen the blonde archer with the sleeveless shirt and everything had changed. Biceps to die for and an ass he could bounce pennies off of were enough to fuel some late night fantasies, plus a very gratifying session of jacking off in the shower, but learning that this was THE Clint Barton, one of the assets on his fantasy team? Well, that pushed Phil past the dreaming stage and into planning 101.  

Planning was Phil’s specialty. The powers that be had snatched him out of SHIELD Ops Academy precisely because he was a little OCD with a talent for organizing and running any size of mission. He could see three steps ahead and prepare for all eventualities, in any situation. Except for his own love life. That Phil seemed to mess up spectacularly without even trying. Just this once, he thought, if he treated this like a battle plan, he might have some sort of shot at more than a line or two of conversation. Sex would be great but he’d really like a morning after and a second date. All he had to do, he figured, was act cool and confident, like he knew what he wanted and, more importantly, what he was doing. He’d studied Barton’s file enough to know that the archer wouldn’t respond well to doubt or insecurity in a handler; he just needed to transfer that same surety to this and maybe he had a chance.

Barton’s palm slid across Phil’s, callouses rubbing across his skin, heat blooming up his arm. The blue-grey eyes glittered with humor, meeting Phil’s straight on, not bothering to hide his own interest. Damn, but that was Phil’s weakness – strong-willed, sassy-mouthed AND handsome as hell.  He was so screwed. But he couldn’t let Barton see him sweat. Keep it together and be the smooth operator he wished he was.

“Nice to finally meet you,” he said in his calmest voice. Both interested and in control, he thought. “I’ve been meaning to thank you.”

“Um, we haven’t met yet,” Clint said, stepping back and retrieving his hand, albeit reluctantly.

“True. But because of you and your friend, I won S.W.A.M.P. this year.” Phil didn’t mention that he was the youngest student to ever sweep the Strategic War and Mission Planning tournament. Completely computerized games with real world implications, this year’s directive was an A.I.M. attempt on the President of the United States.

Barton’s eyebrows went up and those heated eyes wandered down and back up Phil’s body. “Still don’t know how I did it but, hey, I’ll take some of that gratitude if it gets me your number.”

“And on that note,” Mel said, catching Maria’s elbow as she turned to go. “We’ve got things to do, people to talk to. Let’s leave the boys alone.”  It wasn’t subtle, but Mel preferred a frontal assault for her first choice. “Don’t break him,” she said, aiming the comment at both of them. Maria didn’t seem happy, but she went, Mel’s look quelling anything she was going to say.

“So,” Phil said. “You need a beer or something stronger?”

Sliding behind the chair, Clint put his hands on the back and leaned over, bringing his lips to the curve of Phil’s ear. “Question is, what do you need … Phil.” Fingers brushed Phil’s shoulders, Clint close enough to for Phil to feel his warmth.

“I see your cockiness has not been exaggerated,” Phil said, tamping down on his body’s reaction to the proximity, stilling the shiver that ran through him.

“Is that going to be a problem?” Clint’s lips were almost kissing Phil’s neck, his breath stirring Phil’s hair. Phil’s cock jumped, thickening against the zipper of his pants.

“Far from it. I like cocky men.” Fight fire with fire, he thought. Be just aggressive enough to keep him guessing; not that it was difficult to admit he wanted to get into Barton’s pants.

Clint tossed his head back and laughed at that, delight lighting his face as he came around and pulled a chair in front of him. “Phil Coulson,” Clint sat down, letting his legs fall open, his arousal evident through his soft jeans. “I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship.”

“Friend zoning me already?” Phil leaned forward and put his hand on Clint’s knee. “’Cause I was hoping for something that involved getting naked.”

“Well, now, I can do that.” Clint slid his leg so Phil’s fingers slipped down his inner thigh. The noise of the room receded and Phil felt something shift in his chest, like a jigsaw puzzle piece fitting into place. “Do you want to …”

Phil’s phone vibrated in his pocket, the specific pattern he’d learned but never heard before. From the corner of his eye he saw Maria take out her own cell just as he answered his.

“Coulson,” Phil said.

“Sierra Hotel Tango Foxtrot. You are authorized to activate your team and report to the carrier by 04:30 for instructions.” The line clicked and Phil was left staring at the screen that told him the number was anonymous. No hint whether this was real or a test, one more part of the games or a compromise situation.

“Coulson?” Clint’s voice was serious, taking his cues from Phil’s tension.

“We’ve been activated. Get Romanov and let’s go. There’s a quinnjet on the tarmac for tomorrow’s demonstration.” He stood, pushing his half-full bottle of beer back from the edge of the table. At Clint’s raised eyebrow, Phil took a second to explain. “Regulation 12.82.04: S.W.A.M.P. teams are registered as reserve and are available for authorization in situations covered under 8.9.14.”

Eyes widened as the implications hit him; Clint’s mouth opened then shut then opened again. “I guess this means sex is off the table?”

“Oh, hell no.” Phil took Clint’s hand and pulled him up as he went. “I’m not blowing this before it ever gets started.”

“Oh, good … although blowing me sounds like a great plan,” Clint pitched his voice for only Phil’s ears.

“Later. Right now Strike Team Delta is a go.” Phil grinned as adrenaline charged through his system. “Afterwards we’ll see who’s on top.”


	2. Chapter 2

“So let me get this straight. Out of all the students, you picked me and Natasha for your fantasy team?” Clint ran his eyes up and down Coulson’s body, giving him a cocky grin. “Wouldn’t it have been easier to just ask me out? I’m a pretty safe bet if you want to get in my pants.”

Clint Barton was much more than advertised; reading his file and watching him all weekend had in no way prepared Phil for the full force of Clint’s attractiveness. If they hadn’t gotten the call less than … he checked his watch … eight minutes before, he might be in a stairwell with Barton’s tongue down his throat right now. Instead, they were on their way to the helicarrier for some unknown mission.

“On task, Barton.” Phil went with competence to hide the effect Clint’s words were having on his body. “You and Romanov make a formidable pair; why do you think you’re fast tracked in Ops?”

That surprised Clint. “Fast track? Um, no, I’m on the slow and steady path to a C average.”

And there was a flash of insecurity, the self-deprecating habit that was in his files. Phil didn’t see it as a problem like some of Clint’s professors; he saw it as motivation. “Why do you think Director Donaldson waved your entrance exam? And jumped Natasha straight to individual instruction in martial arts? Why can you both pilot a quinjet when only flight program seniors get training?”

“Because we’re fabulous?” Clint’s grin was infectious and Phil had to fight not to return it. Handler. He was Clint’s handler now. He didn’t need his brain fogged up by attraction. Oh, who was he kidding? Being in the tight quarters of the jet was far too close for comfort; even with his mind on the call, he was still aroused enough to be half-hard just from smelling Clint’s cologne.

“Because we have unique skills SHIELD needs,” Natasha said from the cockpit seat. “They’re collectors, that’s what they do. Bow boy and red girl. Look what we’ve got.”

He’d read her files, both the easily accessible ones he had access to and the ones that were classified as well. That cynicism was born of a history of distrust and abuse. And yet it was one of the reasons she was such a valuable potential asset.  She was always expecting the stab in the back and kept going long past the time when other people’s self-preservation kicked in.  Philip felt a kinship with that; his last evaluation with his advisor had lead with the sentence, “you’re not a god damn robot, Phil.”

“Partially, yes.” Phil had a realistic view of SHIELD’s darker side; he had written a graduate exam in the history of the failed Santiago operation. “But you’re both unique in your skill set and you think outside the box.”

“I’m certainly out of the closet,” Clint said, holding on as the jet banked to the left. Below, the helicarrier came into view. He winked at Phil.

“I think you’re too cocky for your own good,” Phil replied without thinking, earning a very saucy grin from Clint.

“Alright, boys, you’ll have time to flirt later. We’re landing now. Don’t embarrass me, Clint, or you know what I’ll do,” Natasha warned.

“Yes, ma’am,” Clint replied, rolling he eyes at Phil. “Natasha thinks she’s the boss, but I’m perfectly willing for you to tell me what to do.” The jet touched down and Nat taxied to a stop. The ramp lowered and Phil stood, clearing his throat and raising his voice to be heard over the whipping of the wind.

“As your handler, it’s my job to plan and oversee the details. But I’m open to input from both of you; you know your fields of specialty. I’m counting on that.” He’d taken that into account as well; most of the other team leaders were ‘my way or the highway’ and expected unquestioning allegiance. Phil thought that was a stupid way to engender trust and very short sighted. Both Natasha and Clint were very smart, knew things that Phil, brought up in his very liberal, very middle class family, wouldn’t know.

“Open to input?” Clint leaned in until Phil could feel the heat from his body. “You serious about this fantasy, Phil?”

Phil’s mouth went dry and he tried to come up with any answer beside a stuttering mess of consonants.

“Maria’s team is on its way,” Natasha warned.  “Steve and Bucky and Melinda May.”

“Oh, hell, no.” Clint bumped Phil from behind, peering over his shoulder. “Barnes is not going to get ahead of me.”

“Let’s get moving then,” Phil said.

~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~

“Coulson. Romanov. Barton.” Jacob Strzeszewski, Head of Special Internal Operations, ushered them into the conference room.“I think it goes without saying that everything said in this meeting is need to know. Even though you’re still academy students, I know you’ve been informed of secrecy protocols.”

“Yes, sir.” Phil stepped between Clint and Natasha, putting himself squarely in Ski’s line of sight. “We’re ready for briefing.”

Clint had to admit that Phil’s calm assertiveness was sexy as hell. Phil stood up to the big man on their behalf, falling right into his role of handler. Yeah, Clint liked it; he’d always had a thing for competent, confident guys. Something about throwing them off balance and knowing he could get them to respond to his overtures. He’d just met Phil and already he was becoming obsessed with breaking the guy’s composure.

“We’ve got an issue at the Academy. Three strange energy spikes. The info’s all here.” Strzeszewski passed over a usb drive. “Check it out for me, but on the Q.T. I don’t want to scare off anyone if they’re up to no good and there’s no reason to upset the games if we don’t have to, you get my drift?”

“Yes, sir. We’ll be discrete,” Phil agreed with certainty in his voice.

Clint managed to stifle the snort he made at that assertion. Natasha might be the type who could slip in and out but Clint tended to blow things up. A lot.

“And Maria’s team? Are we coordinating with them?” Clint asked. He had this sneaking suspicion this was yet another test, more of SHIELD’s head games they liked to play. The higher muckety-mucks still didn’t trust him; his RA on his dorm hall was watching him, he knew. The kid was three years younger than Clint and thought stealthy movements meant tiptoeing past open doors. Good thing the guy was a language genius. He’d be perfect to translate from the van but heaven help any team that put him in the field.

Phil’s eyebrow raised as Strzeszewski replied. “Do you see another team here, Cadet?” he barked.

“No, sir,” Clint replied but he let his grin say what he didn’t. “My mistake, sir.  Boiler Room is pretty damn crowded tonight, sir.”

“Did I pick the wrong team, Coulson?” Strzeszewski glared at Phil.

“We’ll get the job done, sir. Is there a time frame and who is our contact in the school?” Phil’s voice was calm and even, but Clint saw his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.

“Games end tomorrow. After they’re over, we think the perpetrator will stop since the spikes will be much more noticeable; all the science fair experiments are providing cover.” He passed over an ear bud. “Talk only to me. I’ll expect results by 1600 tomorrow. Make sure that jet’s back where you found it before the crew in charge notices it’s gone.”

That was clearly a dismissal and Clint didn’t mind following Phil out of the room; it gave him a good angle to watch the curve of Phil’s ass as he strode purposefully back towards the flight deck, tablet clutched in his hand. Agents passed, operatives and staff, few even looking at them. The whole way, Clint was running the assignment in his head, thinking about mysterious spikes of power. Didn’t take away from his appreciation of the way Phil moved with purpose; Clint could definitely multitask when it came to Phil.

Natasha gave him a look as they boarded the jet and settled into seats, warning him without words to get his dick under control. She had every intention of being the kind of agent that everyone else measured themselves by; Clint was on notice that he’d better not screw that up for her. Actually, that’s why they worked well together. They were both ruthless in their own ways; Natasha driven and focused, Clint determined to move beyond his past and prove he was worth saving. And something was telling Clint that Phil Coulson was just as intense as they were.

“Take a look at this; tell me what you see.” Phil handed the tablet to Clint as he buckled up. “You know the grounds here better than I do.”

“What? You’re the handler,” Clint protested. “This is science and shit, man. I’m a sniper. Give me a target and tell me to take the shot, that’s what I do.”

“Yeah, don’t give me that bullshit.” Phil’s lip quirked up at the corner. “I’ve seen your test scores and evaluations, remember? Others might buy the ‘I’m just a one trick pony’ line, but I know better.”

“Trick pony. That’s low, Coulson,” Clint muttered. “Luckily, you’re sassy and hot, so I’ll the circus jib slide this once.” He took the screen, looking at the data to hide his reaction to Phil’s vote of confidence in his abilities. Everyone thought he was a screw up … well, Tasha didn’t and now Phil.

“The spikes aren’t location specific; the levels were raised evenly across the campus,” Phil offered, pointing to the graphs. “The energy signature is indistinct, at least to the helicarrier sensors.”

“That kid, the one with the curly hair, British or Scottish or something, like nine-years-old, baby genius? What’s his name?” So many young people came in, used to being the best and the brightest, and found all too quickly that they weren’t that anymore. They were often gone before Clint could learn their names. Barnes had taken to numbering them; they got a nickname if they survived to the end of their second term. “Sci/Tech 42,” Clint told Natasha.

“Leo Fitz,” Phil was the one who supplied the answer. “Engineer, and he’s fourteen.”

“Kid looks like he still watches Saturday morning cartoons,” Natasha said, looking over her shoulder. “I don’t think he’s even shaving yet.”

“Hey, I know you like Spongebob,” Clint teased his friend. “Anyway, Fitz was having problems with his science fair entry, some kind of new remote scanners, little hovering things. He named them after the seven dwarves. He was really upset; said they were calibrated perfectly, that there was some sort of interference. That was about … yeah … 3:30 on Saturday afternoon. During one of the spikes.”

“You think he was picking up something?” Phil asked. He was close, his head bent down next to Clint’s and Clint stopped himself from leaning in and sniffing. Okay, he had a thing for scents. It wasn’t that strange.

“Bigger question is why you were at the science fair when I thought you were getting ready for the quarter-finals,” Natasha asked, a laugh hidden in her voice.

He didn’t blush, not in the least, but yeah, he did make a circuit around the science wing. “Think outside the box, right?” He shot back. “Never know when I might need a flying bug that’s a scanner. There was a sleeping potion that is inert until it comes in contact with human skin. If the kid gets the logistics worked out, it would be great in an arrowhead.”

“So we find Fitz, see what he was picking up.” Phil had no problem making decisions, but he also asked for feedback. Yep. That was sexy too. 

“Probably in his or Simmons’ room. He’s got a thing for her and they’re both too young for the Boiler Room.” Natasha deftly landed the jet back in the same spot they found it. “They’ll be in the guest dorm with the others other Sci/Techies.”

Phil was up before Clint was unbuckled, energy vibrating through his body. “Hey, guys.” Clint stopped them. “You realize the higher ups could be jerking our chains, right?”

“Of course,” Phil agreed. “There’s always one more test. They don’t call it Shit Hiding In Every Line of Directives for nothing.”

With a chortle, Natasha poked Phil in the shoulder as she passed on her way out. “Haven’t heard that one.”

“Shall we get going …” Phil started to ask.

Clint caught his arm and swung him around, planting his lips over Phil’s before either of them went any further. Surprised for a second, Phil tensed then his lips parted and he wrapped his hands around Clint’s biceps, pushing him a step backwards into the interior shadows. Clint’s intent had been to kiss him once and take the edge off, make focusing on the job easier for the next few hours; sitting next to Phil on the short ride to and from the carrier had been bad enough, but running around the academy watching Phil be all competent bad ass? Yeah, no, Clint had to have a little taste to tide him over.

But this was nothing like what Clint had planned, a quick buss, a smart-ass remark, then stroll away. Instead, tongues were involved, the kind of heavy breaths that left no doubt how his cock was stirring, starting to fill out in his jeans. It was the kind of kiss that led straight to bodies pressed, rubbing against each other, groans and whispers and coming far too fast.

“Fuck,” Clint breathed. “Damn Coulson, that was supposed to break the tension not ratchet it up.”

Phil’s chuckle was sinful as hell. “Let’s get this damn job done so I can see what’s under that shirt and jeans.”

“Anytime.” Clint nipped the bottom of one of Phil’s ears. “But yeah. Clothing optional. I like that idea.”

“Boys?” Natasha’s voice floated in. “Maria’s team is finished briefing and heading back.”

“How the hell does she know that?” Phil asked him, brushing his hair back in place and straightening his collar that had somehow gone askew.

“I don’t ask, and she doesn’t tell.” Clint didn’t bother with his own hair; he was just going to make damn sure that Phil messed it up later. “Best for everyone. Let’s go talk to Fitz.”

Clint let the others lead so they didn’t see him shake his head at how quickly he was going down. One kiss. And he was making plans that had Phil Coulson at the center of them.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh, my God,” Bucky Barnes said, pausing in the doorway. “My eyes! My eyes!”
> 
> “Clint, what the hell are you doing?” Steve asked. Maria stared and Melinda smirked.
> 
> “If you must know, Phil and I are going skinny dipping,” Clint said with as much dignity as he could while wearing only purple briefs. “It was supposed to be a big romantic gesture, but then Nat showed up and now you guys. Getting a little crowded to be a date.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet you thought I'd forgotten this poor little WIP. Actually, I had. *hides head in shame* Anyway, there's this and two more chapters and they're all done, so I'll be posting them over the next two weeks before I go on vacation. Hope you enjoy! :))))

“Do you want … I mean … I have soda, orange or grape … Or tea. I could make a pot of …” Leo Fitz stammered, eyes dancing between the three older students. The kid’s dorm room was packed from ceiling to floor with components, pieces and parts, circuit boards and bins of all kinds of fasteners. All of them in various stages, some complete, some just rough-in prototypes. He’d put his bed up on stilts so he could make a workshop underneath. Where his roommate’s bed used to be, he’d put in shelves that were rough boards held up by filing cabinets and milk crates, filled to the brim with books and tools. But it was all neat, everything in its place, marked and labeled.

“Oh, Fitz, they don’t want tea,” Jemma Simmons said, pushing some technical journals off of the desk chair and offering it to the guests. “They said they wanted to talk about a science project.”

“Yes, but I can be a good host, all right,” he hissed at her before turning back to them. “So … um … what do you need? … how can I help you? … I mean … I saw you shoot today, Cadet Barton … you’re aim is amazing … almost perfect …” He winced as he saw Clint raise an eyebrow at that. “Wind coefficient and drag made the last shot maybe an eighth of a centimeter off. No one else could have made that shot, but if we were to reduce the rifling in the fletching of your arrows …”

Phil realized that the teen could go on for hours like this, Jemma  rolling her eyes as Leo got himself wound up to a fevered pitch. Not that he blamed Fitz for having an obvious man crush on Clint. Hell, Phil was reeling from one kiss. He could still feel the pressure on mouth and his dick certainly remembered. Later, he reminded himself. Strike Team Delta first and if they wanted answers within their time frame someone had to corral Fitz and get him on topic. Phil was just about to open his mouth and do it when Clint beat him to the punch.

“Actually, I’m here because of your little bots you were showing today. I’m in Professor Hendrickson’s class and we’ve got our term project due in a few weeks …” Clint began.

“Which he hasn’t even started,” Natasha cut in and supplied.

“… and all that talk about ambient interference today made me think of the way my wifi connect keeps dropping out because people like Barnes buy a router with two channels that broadcasts up two floors and overrides the school wifi. Happens every Sunday and Wednesday, those damn updates.” Clint leaned against one of the posts of Fitz’s bed, crossing his arms over his tight t-shirt. It rode up, revealing a sliver of muscular abs, and Phil had to tear his eyes away from the tanned flesh.  

“That’s a glitch with Windows 8,” Natasha said. Jemma joined her in a sympathy eye roll. “I told you not to buy that piece of shit cheap laptop.”

Clint gave Natasha the evil eye and kept talking. “I’m still rocking Windows XP, babe. I’m smarter than that.”

“What does wifi have to do with …” Fitz started to ask but Phil jumped in to fill in the blanks.

“Ambient jamming. If the signal is coming from everywhere, how do you isolate and block it?” Phil knew it was stupid the minute it was out of his mouth, but it was all he could think of.  Natasha gave the tiniest of shrugs.

“That would be …” Fitz stopped and thought about it. “I mean, if you could pull it off, but how?”

“The bots. Couldn’t the bots spread out over an area …” Simmons tossed out.

“Maybe we start with the interference from earlier? See what that was and how it worked?” Clint asked, all innocence. Damn but he was good; give the two geniuses a vague explanation and let them do all the work. Just point them the right way.

“Right!” Fitz woke up his computer and dragged data onto the screen. “I’ve been working on that. Dr. Martinez was so demeaning, dismissing my work without a thought. But look! It’s the strangest thing.” He turned the computer around to show them; Phil didn’t get more than a few seconds to look at what appeared to be a three dimensional graph of the campus. “See? If we triangulate the levels of theta waves, recalibrate to include reverberation and expansion, remove the echoes … there! The locus point of the disturbance.”

Fitz practically danced with excitement, the tablet jostling in his hands; Jemma took it and passed it over to Phil.  The red dot blinked right over a large rectangle.

“The interference is coming from the pool?” Clint asked, shifting forward, his thigh running along Phil’s. “Well, now, that’s an idea. Anyone up for a swim?”

* * *

 

Clint watched Phil’s ass as he climbed down the scoreboard ladder, checking every nook and cranny for something that could be a source of the disturbance. They’d scoured the whole room from top to bottom -- Clint had even climbed up in the rafters -- but they’d found nothing but empty cans, huge dust bunnies, and a few condom wrappers under the bleachers.  

“Looks like boy wonder was wrong,” Natasha said. “We’ve checked everywhere …”

“Not everywhere,” Clint said with a wink, catching the edge of his shirt and pulling it over his head. He was toeing off his boots when Phil arrived beside him.

“You can’t be serious?” Phil said, his cheeks flaming as watched Clint yank off one sock and then the other.

“Come on, Phil! Live a little.” Clint unbuckled his belt. “You were the one who said something about getting naked.” He dropped his jeans to the floor and stepped out of them.

“Oh, my God,” Bucky Barnes said, pausing in the doorway. “My eyes! My eyes!”

“Clint, what the hell are you doing?” Steve asked. Maria stared and Melinda smirked.

“If you must know, Phil and I are going skinny dipping,” Clint said with as much dignity as he could while wearing only purple briefs.  “It was supposed to be a big romantic gesture, but then Nat showed up and now you guys. Getting a little crowded to be a date.”

“Bullshit,” Bucky shot back. “You’re trying to keep us out of here. Must be something important.”

“Hey, no, dude. You’re welcome to watch. I just thought you’d be uncomfortable, what with all your big he-man, girl-loving avoidance tactics. Have at it,” Clint said. He hoped that the others wouldn’t push him further, but it wasn’t like they’d found anything in here.

“Phil?” Melinda called. “Are you really going skinny dipping?”

The moment of truth. Clint looked at Phil, whose face was now beet red, his eyes barely wavering from Clint’s body, desperately trying to stay above the waist and failing miserably. The way Phil caught his bottom lip between his teeth was so very inviting that Clint forgot about the mission and the other team for a minute and wished they were really doing something very different right now.

Phil’s chest rose as he took a deep breath. “Well, I was thinking of keeping the boxers on, but, yeah, we’re going in the water. You only live once, right? Aren’t you always telling me to go for it?”

He pulled his shirt off and Clint got his first view of Phil’s chest, the smattering of dark hair across pale skin, slim muscles and trim waist.  Then his shoes and socks joined the shirt, and Phil started taking off his pants.

“Fine, go for a swim,” Maria said with a huff. “We’re going to search the room.”

The others spread out, Barnes mumbling the whole time, and began to search. Clint was too taken with Phil’s fingers dragging his khakis down his legs, revealing a pair of black SHIELD boxers and long, lean runner’s legs. HIs cock stirring, Clint dove into the lukewarm water to avoid making an idiot out of himself and jumping Phil on the side of the pool. Swimming half-naked he could get away with. Giving Phil a blow job with everyone watching? That would probably be too much. Probably.

“Water’s fine! Come on in!” Clint tread water a few few feet away from the edge; Phil stepped to the side, his toes hanging over the black tiles, leg muscles bunching as he jumped, arms stretched forward into a perfect dive. He tucked his head and sliced right into the water, and Clint knew he was gone on this guy. Fuckin’ idiot executing a three point entrance in his underwear with all the onlookers? Yeah, Phil Coulson was so getting laid soon.

The water splashed as Phil’s head came up near where Clint was eyeing the rest of the room. Swooping back wet tendrils of hair, Clint grinned. “You a swimmer, Coulson? Can you keep up?”

Down under the surface Clint went, stroking with his arms as he swam towards the shallow end. He kept his eyes open as he went , scanning the lined tiles beneath him for anything out of place. When he came up for breath, Phil was ahead of him, swimming with powerful grace through the water with perfect style. Being raised in the circus and then a series of orphanages and foster homes, Clint hadn’t had time for swimming lessons and Red Cross certification. He’d taught himself once he came to SHIELD academy and, just like his shooting style, his strokes were far from elegant, but they worked. He caught up with Phil at the far wall, tapping and turning quickly before pushing off and gliding underwater.  Breaking the water, he kept his head down, scanning the bottom, turning his head to breath and catch a glimpse of Phil.

There, a drain grate, tucked on the vertical wall beneath the diving platforms. The slight glow in the water, almost indistinguishable blue, but Clint had damn good eyes. Only someone underwater would be able to see it.  

Twisting and diving underwater, Clint caught Phil’s ankle and dragged him down. HIs hands slid up Phil’s legs and caught on the bloused out hem of his boxers, slipping beneath. Fingers circled Phil’s thighs as Clint’s thumbs brushed into the wiry hair in the curve of Phil’s leg.  Then they surfaced, Phil gasping for breath and Clint grinning from ear-to-ear.

“Couldn’t let you win,” Clint said. “Not yet, anyway. That comes later.”

God, but Phil’s mouth was tempting, the way he parted those lips and flicked the tip of his tongue over them. Normally, the audience wouldn’t stop Clint from leaning over and kissing Phil senseless, but a sudden impulse to keep Phil all to himself made Clint bump his legs against Phil’s and move away, opening his arms and floating on his back.

“You are shameless, Barton,” Melinda said. She wasn’t the only one who looked at Clint’s very obvious package. So did Steve and Barnes; only Maria kept her focus on the search.  

“Hey, love your body, right?” Clint saw Bucky eyeing the rest of the pool; damn man was smart, Clint would give him that.  “Nat, you coming in?”

“If you dunk me, you’re paying for it,” she answered. She undressed in an economy of motions that had Bucky and Maria slowing to a stop to watch.  Grey sports bra and simple cotton underwear revealed, she dove in and began slicing through the water.  

“There’s nothing here,” Maria said, tearing her eyes away from the form in the pool. “Let’s go. We’re wasting time.”

“I think we should …” Melinda began, but Maria cut her off.

“I agree. Some of us want to work rather than goof off,” Maria said. She motioned them towards the door and headed out.

Clint waited until the metal door clicked shut then he grabbed Phil’s arm and reeled him in for a wet kiss. Their hips bumped together and Clint moaned alittle into Phil’s mouth, the rocking of the water rubbing his cock against Phil’s thigh.  Phil’s tongue swiped Clint’s lips and he almost forgot what his plan was.

“Think Hill left a listening device?” Clint murmured in Phil’s after he’d kissed his way back along Phi’s jaw.  “It’s what I would do.”

“I have a jammer in my pocket.” Phil nibbled on the edge of Clint’s ear. Little tendrils of lust shot down Clint’s neck.  

“Funny, that doesn’t feel like a jammer.” Clint chuckled; he couldn’t resist one more pass of his cock against Phil’s leg.  Then he pushed away, floating out in the water, raising his voice. “Okay, let’s go before I have you right here.”

“I just might let you,” Phil said. “But we have to finish the mission first.”

Clint watched Phil swim to the side and lever himself out of the pool. Water ran down the back of his thighs, dark hair plastered to the skin. Calf muscle flexed, a hard semi circle, and tendons across Phil’s shoulders pulled and retracted. Boxers clung to every curve, the hollow in Phil’s ass cheeks appearing as he walked across the tile to pick up towels from the rack of clean ones.  It was when Phil turned that Clint lost all ability for coherent thought; Phil’s cock was outlined and even just  partially hard, he was big.  Like, lick his lips and clench his ass, big. Good God, but Phil Coulson had just moved into Clint’s bucket list as in ‘Clint has to do that before he dies.’

“Since you’re distracted, I’ll get the device,” Natasha said. Then she put her hands on his head and pushed him under. Water filled his mouth; he came up sputtering, gulping for air like an idiot.

“Not funny, Nat,” he finally spit out. Swimming over to the side, he saw her down below, her red hair spread out like a mermaid, her legs lazily kicking as she pried open the grate.

Knowing Phil was watching, Clint made sure to lift his weight with his arms, showing off his biceps and chest muscles as he climbed out.  He didn’t turn to the side or try to hide as he walked over to where Phil was holding a towel out for him. Okay, maybe he strutted his way across the tile, letting Phil see his cock stir at the attention.  

“You know, towels are evil,” Clint joked, looking down at the one wrapped around Phil’s waist.  He dried his hair first then his shoulders and chest before he hung it around his shoulders and dropped his wet briefs on the tile. Phil’s eyes widened, flicked down and then up then back down again. One eyebrow raised as he eyed Clint.

“Modest much, Barton?” Phil asked, a gleam in his eye as Clint finished drying off.

“When you got it …” Clint winked and grabbed his jeans to put on.  Phil’s other eyebrow went up. “What? I’m not wearing wet underwear! If we’d gone with my plan of being naked, I wouldn’t have this problem.”

“Fuck,” Phil cursed. He tugged off the towel and then took off his wet boxers, leaving them in a sodden heap, drying himself and reaching for his own pants. Clint got a good look at just how big Phil was even when he was wet and cold.

“Damn, Coulson.” Clint whistled and continued getting dressed. “I am impressed.”

“If you boys are done.” Natasha had quietly exited the pool and was half clothed; a towel was pooled on the floor on top of something square. “We still have work to do.”

Phil knew a quiet spot behind the gym where the cameras were blind and someone had dragged an old wooden picnic bench. The ground was littered with cigarette butts and a few empty beer cans, crushed and mangled. They put the square box, no more than six inches wide, on the table and stared at it for a few minutes. The more Clint looked at it, the more his sixth sense went off.

“So, we take this back and we win, right?” Clint turned the thing over, the same smooth pewter color on every side, not a single marking or seam. “Does this seem too easy to anyone else?”

“Or we’re supposed to think that.” Natasha was the best. She always thought in terms of double and triple-crosses. That trait was going to save her ass one day.

“We could …” Phil began, but stopped when the box emitted a whine and began to flash yellow.  “Spike timing. What’s the intervals between spikes?”

Clint grabbed the box. “Take no chances. We don’t know what it’ll do out of the water.”

“Four hours and 23 minutes,” Natasha said.   

The yellow turned orange.

“No time.” Clint took off at a sprint down the incline and out towards the track, lit in the distance. The thing vibrated against his thigh in a rhythm that increased in speed.

“Clint!” Phil shouted. One glance backwards and Clint gave Phil a salute.

Then the whine went higher and Clint fell to his knees as black rushed into his head.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Cube? No clue what that is,” Clint drawled. “We’re just looking for a place to party. Where does a guy have to go to get a drink around here.”
> 
>  
> 
> She sighed. “Don’t play dumb, Barton. Stick your hands in your boyfriend’s pockets and give it to me.”

“Someone get the number of that heavy metal band that played through my head?”

 

Clint shifted and sat up, pushing aside the extra pillows and white sheets. The inside of his head was reverberating, like a bell that had been struck hard and left to die away on its own.

 

“Drink this. It will help,” Jemma Simmons said, passing him a cup with dark brown liquid inside.

 

“What is it?” Clint asked skeptically, swirling it a little and watching tiny bits of sediment drift to the bottom.

 

“Tea, silly. Well, it’s a matte mixed with some Earl Grey and little bit of honey, so it might be bitter, but the caffeine will help with the head.” She smiled, far too peppy for this time of night. No, scratch that, this early in the morning. “You’ll be fine. The device sent its transmission and your neurons picked up the pulse and overloaded your senses. Nothing major.”

 

Taking a tentative sip, Clint found the drink tasted more like coffee. Could use some cream, but it wasn’t that bad and it did help settle his stomach and make the ringing grow distant. “Transmission? What did I miss?”

 

“Oh, it’s beautiful! This little baby is a reverse induction generator AND an energy transmitter. I can’t believe how effective it is without coiling coils. You see, it’s based upon a kind of fission that I didn’t think anyone had mastered yet …” Fitz was almost vibrating with energy, pointing at the computer screen.

 

Glancing around, Clint saw a Doctor Who poster next to a human anatomy one. Natasha was leaning by the wardrobe next to a big write-on/wipe-off calendar filled with tiny writing in multiple colors. Phil was sitting in one of those papasan chairs with a Tardis blue cushion, his ankle crossed over his other knee. His hair had dried with some pieces over the ear sticking out at odd angles. It was oddly endearing and sexy at the same time; Clint’s fingers itched to run through the brown mass and make it even wilder.

 

“In short,” Jemma cut in, “the device gathers ambient power and then transmits it periodically to a predetermined location. Quite ingenious; the human body is one of the most prolific generators of energy.”

 

“Fitz is running a program to find out where the broadcast is going,” Phil supplied. “We were busy while you played sleeping beauty.”

 

“Aww, Phil, you think I’m pretty?” Clint shifted and stretched, feeling better by the minute.

 

Natasha looked down at her phone, reading a text. “We have another problem. Seems no one has seen Maria and her team since they entered the physics wing over forty minutes ago.”

 

“Maria wouldn’t give up,” Phil said. “Unless they were told to stand down. I assume they’re not in their rooms or the boiler room?”

 

With a shake of her head, Natasha dismissed that possibility. “They were seen going in but no one has come out. There’s only two ways to get into the floor they were on.”

 

They looked at each other, a silent vote taken, and Clint stood up, tucking his feet into his boots without tying them up. “Wish I had my bow,” he grumbled. His hands felt empty.

 

“Do we need weapons?” Leave it to Natasha to get right to the point. But it was interesting that she was asking Phil.

 

“Um, I have some experimental things in my room,” Fitz offered. “All non-lethal. But you can’t tell the professors. They keep kicking me out of the labs, something about a time limit and needing to sleep. Plus Robinson would love to steal my stuff and claim it for his own.”

 

“Not a word,” Phil promised.

 

When they got to his room, Fitz had a couple tasers, modified to recharge faster, and one air pistol with some sort of rubber pelts. Clint pawed through one of the tubs with tiny darts that had glass tubes for shafts.

 

“What are these?” he asked, flipping one between his fingers.

 

“Oh, those are the sleepy time formula. Jemma came up with it; fast acting, puts someone to sleep with no ill effects. But we don’t have a delivery system that works yet. They’re too big for an air pistol.” Fitz shrugged and passed over a small walkie-talkie to Phil. “This works everywhere in the school, even in the no cell phone zones. I’ll let you know as soon as I have a location.”

 

“Thanks,” Phil held out his hand; Fitz shook it, a wide grin on his face.

 

“Does this mean I’m a member of the team?” Fitz asked.

 

“You’re our sci/tech as of tonight,” Phil promised then turned to the Clint and Natasha. “You guys ready?”

 

“Let’s do this,” Natasha said.

 

Clint pocketed some of the darts. “I was born ready.”

 

~_~

 

The mission parameters kept changing and Phil constantly recalibrated the plan. This was what he did best, crunching the numbers and the data to find the best possible outcome. From the beginning, Phil had laid odds that this was another test to pit his and Maria’s teams against each other. Rumor was, a spot was open at the sandbox; yanking their chains like this was exactly what SHIELD would do. The field was a harsh place and only the best survived. Better to weed them out now with lower stakes. But now? Phil wasn’t so sure. This could still be a training mission with Maria in on it although she’d hate being the damsel in distress. And yet Phi’s gut was telling him that Clint was right; something smelled off about the whole mess.

 

The hall Maria had been searching was filled with physics classrooms and labs. Some doors were locked with sophisticated key codes and eye scanners; others were basic classrooms with desks and smartboards. A quick check through the glass inserts showed nothing in the first few rooms. Then Natasha peeked in the door on the far left side and waved them over. Inside were the whole team, frozen in their spots; Melinda was closest to the door, her dark eyes unblinking as she kept a look out. Maria was by the board, reaching for a drawer pull. Steve was near the window and Bucky was at one of the storage cabinets, the door half open.

 

“Wow,” Clint said, peering into the room. “Creepier than wax figures, that’s for sure.” As he reached for the door handle, Phil grabbed his wrist.

 

“Let’s not until we know what’s going on,” Phil cautioned. Just the touch of his fingers against Clint’s skin brought the image of Clint’s naked body back. The cut muscles, the vertical line of his obliques, the trail of darker blonde hair that ran down to the nest of curls between his legs. The perfectly uncut cock with the slightest angle to the left. Thighs that would squeeze just right while Phil was between them.

 

“Yeah, got it.” Clint stepped back and broke the contact; Phil dragged in a deep breath and got control of himself.

 

Thumbing the button on the walkie talkie, he spoke into the grill. “Fitz? You there? We’ve got a problem.”

 

The radio crackled and a clear “oof” came through before Fitz answered. “Yes, yes, we’re here. Go.”

 

“We found Maria’s team. They’re in lab,” Phil looked at the door sign, “238 and …”

 

“Oh, that’s Dr. Hall’s lab. That’s not good. Are they moving?” Jemma’s voice cut in.

 

“They appear to be frozen in place,” Phil said.

 

“I was about to ask that,” Fitz complained.

 

“Then ask it,” Jemma shot back.

 

“He called me,” Fitz replied.

 

“Guys?” Phil spoke a little more sharply than he intended. “Who is Dr. Hall and why is this bad?”

 

“Right.” Fitz got back on track. “Dr. Hall’s experimenting with black holes and time dilation; his theory on heavy gravity is groundbreaking. He works with the ground in Lucerne at the Hadron accelerator …”

 

“Black hole as in an event horizon where time slows down?” Clint asked, talking over Fitz. “So they’re not frozen they’re just moving really, really slowly.”

 

And that was what had caught Phil’s attention in the first place, the way Clint’s mind jumped immediately, made intuitive leaps based upon his intelligence and vast knowledge. Clint might play the dumb carnie … and that was damn useful … but he read extensively and passed all his classes with honors. Not that he told anyone. Sexy body and sexy mind. Phil just might be in too deep.

 

“Exactly!” Fitz exclaimed. “Look, Jemma and I are on our way. Don’t open the door. Each room is isolated and contained, but there’s a control room where we can get a read on what’s happening. You need an access code and I’m a lab assistant, so I can open the door.”

 

“We’ll be here,” Phil told him and cut off.

 

“Okay, building a machine that simulates an event horizon?” Natasha asked. “I guess I can see why, but would you leave it turned on at night? With students who can access the lab?”

 

“You think someone did this on purpose?” Phil turned to look at her. “Why?”

 

“To stop Maria’s team from finding something important,” Natasha suggested.

 

“Or to lure us out in the open.” Clint nodded down the hallway; a faculty member, a younger woman with blonde hair in a ponytail, was striding towards them in a SHIELD uniform with four guards flanking her. “Because we’d go rescue them.”

 

“Give me the cube and we’ll let you go,” the professor got right to the point.

 

The guards had real guns; no way they were going to let Phil and the others just walk away. Unless …

 

“Cube? No clue what that is,” Clint drawled. “We’re just looking for a place to party. Where does a guy have to go to get a drink around here.”

 

She sighed. “Don’t play dumb, Barton. Stick your hands in your boyfriend’s pockets and give it to me.”

 

“As good as that sounds …” Clint grinned and stuck his fingers in his own pockets. “I’m the one with the cube, darlin’.”

 

The big guy on the right took out his gun, pointed it at Clint’s chest, and cocked it. “Now, boy.”

 

Clint glanced at Phil; how could Phil know that look in such a short time? The way Clint’s eyes changed from blue to darker grey and his nose scrunched the tiniest bit -- he was going to do something crazy.

 

“Okay.”

 

With a quick flick of his wrist, Clint threw two of the sleeping darts, both hitting their marks, sinking into guards’ necks before either could react.  Natasha burst into motion, landing a spinning kick on another guard, then flipping one over her shoulder to lie groaning on the floor for Clint to put to sleep.

 

“Bad choice,” the woman said. “You’re not going to …”

 

She jerked as the taser leads hit her, jolts of electricity overloading her neurons as she fell to the floor. Phil tucked the gun back in his pocket.

 

“I hate monologuing,” he told Clint.

 

“Oh my God,” Fitz skidded to a halt. “That’s Dr. Martell!”

 

Jemma knelt by one of the guards and took his pulse. “Good heart rate and respiration. I told you it would work, Fitz.”

 

“Wait, you didn’t know that?” Clint asked. “Hadn’t you tested it before?”

 

“The simulations gave it a 92% success rate,” she answered.

 

Before Clint could say more, Phil interrupted. “Fitz, how do we get the other team out of there? Do we need to get Dr. Hall or some equipment to free them?”

 

“Nah,” Fitz said, using a passcode and his hand print to open a door. “We just turn the power off.”

 

He stepped inside and, in less than half a minute, half of the lights went off, locks the only things glowing red by the doors on the same side of the hall.  Inside the lab, Maria began talking in mid-sentence.

 

“...thing does. We should get one of the sci/tech guys up here to check it out first,” she said.

 

“Where did the lights go?” Steve asked, looking up.

 

“That thing is a black hole event horizon machine and you’ve been trapped in it for about an hour,” Phil explained from the doorway. “Someone turned it on to slow you down.”

 

“What?” Maria turned, her eyes wide in surprise. “An hour?”

 

“Frozen like a statue,” Clint added, standing beside Phil. “We took care of the goons in the hall for you. You’re welcome.”

 

“You’re full of it, Barton,” Barnes accused, heading out to see for himself. “Whoa. What happened here?”

 

“They’re unconscious,” Simmons began to explain when a beep from Fitz’s tablet interrupted.

 

“Got it!” He cried. “The transmission was sent to … the Dean’s office? That doesn’t make any sense.”

 

Phil and Clint shared a look, both of them on the same page. “Unfortunately, it does,” Phil said.

 

“Someone want to fill us in?” Maria asked.

 

“On the way there,” Clint replied. “Phil’s got a plan. Right?”

 

Such unwavering faith warmed Phil’s heart, among other parts of his body. “Yeah, I’ve got an idea.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mission comes to an end and Phil & Clint finally have their moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who follow me pretty regularly, I'm off on vacation for two weeks. Hope to get some writing done!

They burst through the door of the Dean’s office, half out of breath and crowding through the secretary’s front room and into the back space that was brightly lit.

 

“Dean Carden,” Phil said. “We’ve got a situation in the physics labs.”

 

“Hill. Coulson. You have news?” Strzeszewski was seated behind the Dean’s desk, tilted back in the big leather chair. He sat forward and put his arms on the wide wooden surface.

 

“Agent Strzeszewski. What are you doing here?” Maria stopped short; Steve stepped around her.

 

“Overseeing the mission is easier on site.” He nodded for her to go ahead. “What’s the situation?”

 

“Dr. Hall’s black hole device was turned on to trap us and Dr. Martell had guys attack us.” Phil gave the report with a calm voice. “Something is going on in this school.”

 

“Martell. Hmmmm.” Strzeszewski rubbed his fingers along his chin. “I’ll get security to track her down and detain her.”

 

“Melinda and Natasha have them under guard.” Phil watched the older man closely for a tell. The tiniest crinkle at the corner of his left eye was all Phil got, but it was enough.

 

“Excellent work!” The man tilted his head and looked them over. Behind Phil, Clint shifted a step closer. “Now, let me see the cause of all of this. It’s best if we get the cube somewhere safe.”

 

And there it was. Phil had suspected, but he’d needed verification. “Cube? I’m sorry, Sir, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

Strzeszewski paused; his mask slipped for only a second then he was in control again. “The device, Cadet Coulson. The one I sent you after.”

 

“We haven’t found anything yet, sir,” Maria said, taking over on cue. “We were still searching when we were attacked.”

 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Strzeszewski sat back. “Because I know you have it and the only reason you’d be hiding it is if you’re working with the others. Whatever they promised you, may I remind you that you are in line to be SHIELD agents. It’s your job to turn over any unregistered technology. These are bad seeds who seek to line their own pockets rather than serve the greater good.”

 

Steve coughed and scuffed his feet on the tile floor, playing his part to perfection. “Maybe we should …” he started then broke off and started again. “We do what’s right. That’s why we’re here at the academy. To save people. Give him the cube, Phil.”

 

“Damn it, Steve.” Maria turned on him. “You’re a boy scout. Why did I pick you for my team?”

 

“He’s right. Give me the cube and we can get the ones behind this.” Strzeszewski held out his hand. “Barton, you’re in enough trouble as it is; no need to get yourself expelled.”

 

“Hey, I’m just in this to get laid,” Clint protested. “I could care less about energy transfer and gravity wells.”

 

“Really, Clint? You’re that shallow?” Maria shot back.

 

“And here I thought you were an ass kisser, Hill. Guess I was wrong about you,” Clint replied.

 

“Enough bickering. You’re going to give me the cube. Now.” The gun that appeared wasn’t loaded with sleeping rounds; the magazine held twelve bullets, enough to take all four of them out.

 

“They don’t have it, Strez.” Director Donaldson stood in the doorway in a pair of sweatpants and a black SHIELD t-shirt. “Barnes brought it to me. Pretty slick actually; not sure how he got into my quarters in the middle of the night. No one’s ever finished this fast before.”

 

“They had a nice little patter going on to get me to drop information.” Strzeszweski stood up and pushed the chair back. “Somebody needs to go release Sally and the guys; May and Romanova have them under guard.”

 

“Congratulations.” Director Donaldson held out his hand; Phil was the first to take it. The man’s fist was big and beefy and his grip powerful.

 

“We’re looking for people who can think creatively, use all the resources, and work together when needed. You did a great job tonight,” he said. “Welcome to the Sandbox, Cadets Coulson and Hill. Barton, Barnes, Rogers, and Romanova will have commendations put in your files and be promoted to level two.”

 

“It was all a test?” Steve asked.

 

“And you passed with flying colors,” the Director told him. “Now go get some sleep. Barton and Barnes have the Roving Finals tomorrow afternoon. I’m counting on one of you to win.”

* * *

 

Clint hung back, hoping to catch Phil alone, but both the older men were talking to Phil and Maria. Bucky had come back with the Director, and he and Steve were talking about gathering up the others and getting a drink. Seems they knew someone who had a stash in their room. So Clint followed them out, dragging his feet.

 

He made it as far as the next corridor before a hand grabbed his elbow and whirled him around a corner and into a doorway. Pressing Clint back against a shelving unit, Phil kicked the door shut and caught Clint’s waist, holding him tight.

 

“What happened to later?” Phil’s face was so close Clint could see all the variations of blue in his eyes.

 

“Did you want me to interrupt?” Clint grinned and slid one of his knees between Phil’s leg. “Excuse me, Director Donaldson, but I need Phil so I can suck his brains out through his dick?”

 

“Oh.” Phil let out a short quick breath. “Is that the plan?”

 

“That’s step one. Then I’m going to find a bed and we’re going to get naked for the rest of the night and most of the morning.” He shifted so his thigh snugged up and he could feel the weight of Phil’s cock.

 

“What about the final?” Phil leaned into the touch, rubbing along Clint’s denim clad thigh.

 

“Trust me. I do better when I’m relaxed.” Clint wound his hands around Phil’s waist. In a flash, he twisted them both around, changing positions and trapping Phil with his body. “A couple of good orgasms will do just fine.”

 

He tilted his head and kissed Phil with all the frustration that had been building since he’d noticed Phil watching him on the field. He didn’t just want to taste Phil, he wanted to devour him. So much fantasizing over the last few hours and none of it lived up to the real thing. Phil’s opened his mouth for him, tongue tangling with his and neither needed air, just each other. Sinking into Phil, hands dragging him close, Clint forgot everything else but Phil’s taste.

 

“How long after you get off can you come again?” Clint whispered against Phil’s cheek.

 

“Twenty, twenty-five minutes,” Phil mumbled, chasing along Clint’s jaw and nipping his ear.  “Why?”

 

“So I can get you in bed and fuck you later.” Clint grinned then slowly sank down to his knees, hands sliding along Phil’s side. As soon as he was level with Phil’s crotch, he pressed his face along the hard ridge of Phil’s cock, rubbing his cheek along it.

 

“Oh, fuck, Clint.” Phil’s head feel back with a thunk against a box of pipettes.

 

Clint made quick work of Phil’s belt and zipper, slipping his fingers in and curling them around Phil’s cock, taking it out and flicking his tongue across the flushed head. At Phil’s instinctive jerk, Clint smiled up at him, looking through his lashes at Phil’s face. He slid the head between his lips and sucked gently, earning a low moan from Phil, then opened his mouth and took as much as he could until it bumped the back of his throat.

 

Fingers ruffled his hair then fell away; Clint reached for Phil’s hands and put one on each side of his head, giving Phil permission to hold him. With an aching cock of his own, Clint set to work, sucking in as he moved out and going back down a little further each time. Just on the edge of choking, Clint loved it, the fullness, the thickness, the way he could feel every flex and jerk. How he knew as Phil got close, the little groans turning to gasps then grunts as Phil’s muscles tensed with enough warning for Clint to back off enough to swallow as Phil came.

 

“God,” Phil breathed after a few seconds.

 

“Took the edge off,” Clint said, wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb then sucking the drop off. Not taking his eyes away from Phil’s, Clint stood up. “So I can do it again, slower, later.”

 

He tucked his hand into his jeans and tried to adjust his cock. “Nah,” Phil said, pulling Clint’s wrist and slapping his hand away. “That’s for me; I’ll take care of it.”

 

Phil’s fingers were rough with gun callouses, his grip a hair too tight, exactly how Clint liked it. Bracing himself on a shelf, Clint rolled his hips, riding Phil’s thigh; leaning over, he caught Phil’s lips and worked his tongue in as Phil stroked. Too close already, it didn’t take long before he groaned into Phil’s mouth and splattered all over Phil’s hand and both their shirts.

 

“Okay,” he said between breaths. “Okay, that was a good start. Yeah. Round one was successful.”

 

“I’ve got some donuts and Pringles in my bunk,” Phil said, leaning his forehead against Clint’s. “I could eat.”

 

“Why Phil, is that an invitation?” Clint half-chuckled, pulling back to put himself back together. “I know where to get some beer. Your place it is.”

 

**8 years later**

 

“I told you, Jemma, we’ll be fine in the field,” Leo was saying as the ramp lowered on the quinnjet. “Think of all the new things we’ll encounter, new devices, diseases … it’s going to be fun!”

 

“I just don’t know,” Jemma replied, hoisting her duffle bag more securely on her shoulder. “We’re not cut out to be in the middle of a gun fight.”

 

“If all goes according to plan, you won’t be,” Phil Coulson said from where he waited on the platform below.

 

“Agent Coulson!” Jemma’s face lit up as she came down the ramp. “Last I heard, you were running the various Strike Teams to great success.”

 

“Phil’s the best handler in the business,” Clint said, adjusting his sunglasses in the afternoon glare, his wedding ring catching the light. “Nice to see you, Jemma. Leo.”

 

“Clint!” Leo dropped his bag and wrapped his arms around Clint, squeezing him in a happy hug. “How are those EMP arrows working? Did the remote trigger work better?”

 

“Like a dream.” Clint scooped up the bag and took Jemma’s. “Come on in and see the facility. You’re not going to believe the lab space.”

 

They crossed the tarmac and entered the low slung concrete bunker; Steve Rogers nodded as they came through then went on pouring cups of coffee for James Barnes and Maria Hill.

 

“You’re going to love it here,” Clint was saying, walking down a hallway lined with labs. “We’ve got all the bells and whistles. Stark spared no expense.”

 

“Stark?” Fitz’s voice squeaked. “Tony Stark? As in Stark Industries, Tony Stark?”

 

“Pain-in-the-ass Tony Stark,” Phil mumbled.

 

“Is that …” Jemma stared through a glass window “... Dr. Banner?”

 

“We’ve recruited the best for the program,” Phil said. “Natasha, Melinda, Dr. Hank Pym, Dr. Elizabeth Ross, Dr. Carol Danvers ...”

 

“Program?” Fitz asked, ducking through the door Clint held open. “What program?”

 

“Leo Fitz, Jemma Simmons?” Assistant Director Nick Fury stood at the head of a conference table. “I want to talk to you about the Avengers Initiative.”

 

 


End file.
